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The sound of Ana's spoon tapping the side of her coffee mug ricocheted around the relative gloom of her office, painfully loud in the silence. But then, it wasn't the measured clinking that normally accompanied her morning coffee, but rather the frantic and frazzled tapping of someone who had not slept well, or possibly at all. Her nightmares had gotten steadily worse over the last couple of months and in an effort to draw her attention away from them, Ana had thrown herself into her work to a point that her bed laid untouched and perhaps even dusty. The result of her insomnia was evident in the limpness of her once vivacious curls, that sickly greenish pallor her skin had taken on, and those ominous circles under her once bright golden eyes, which had since darkened to a dull and murky brown. However, these were hardly the most pressing matters on her mind.

Ever since the dreams started, around the same time as she began harassing Aileen about the dagger, Ana's curse scar had grown exponentially. For years it had just been a blackened and grizzled reminder of the foils of youthful impulsiveness, more ugly then painful. But now it had spread, branching out ebony veins that spider-webbed across her narrow shoulders, sending bursts of searing pain through her body and deep into her bones. She couldn't even bear to look at herself in the mirror, plowing through potion after potion to cover the disfiguring blemish, only to stare at its growing mass in unspoken horror when the effects faded away. She was convinced now that it was finally trying to kill her, perhaps by driving her insane. Noirtu had warned her that curses could take years to play out, but she had laughed the idea off then. It was just a burn, she had claimed. Oh how naive and foolish she had been.

Then there was that thing. The thing she discovered deep in the Hall of Prophecy and secreted away, hiding it from the world in hopes that it would cease to exist. She hadn't even listened to it, fearing what the tiny, glowing orb would reveal. Sure she had contemplated that it could be good, perhaps even great, but something deep within her told her that she was fooling herself. The dreams... the scar... were these signs that the prophecy was coming to be? The idea sent shivers so violent down her spine that she lost the grip on her mug and sent it shattering on the floor. Watching as the rich coffee turned the pale flagstones into the color of mud, sprinkled with shards of white ceramic, Analiza decided that she couldn't hide any longer.

Her knees trembling, Ana pushed herself to her feet and, once she got her footing, stepped around the shattered mug carefully. No matter how much she let herself go, there was no excuse for ruining a good pair of shoes. Tottering over to one of the many bookcases lining the walls, Analiza pulled out a nondescript book and waited as the walls shifted and reorganized themselves to reveal a wall safe. She had it designed by goblins and installed there when she started, unwilling to separate herself from those possessions she most prized and most feared. After running a manicured finger down the crease in the middle, the heavy metal doors creaked open, revealing an expanse that defied the laws of space and time. "Accio... Prophecy..." She murmured reluctantly, waving her wand halfheartedly into the void. After a few moments of silence, a point of light lit up the gloom and grew rapidly until a small, blue orb wrapped in sheer fabric landed gently in her outstretched palm.

Setting it in the middle of her desk, Analiza fell back into her chair and placed a hand on either side of the relic, staring at it with an intensity that would have melted lesser objects. Digging her nails so hard into the wood that she left four perfectly etched grooves in their wake, Analiza rolled her head back and took a deep breath, willing her nerves to relax. When she opened her eyes, the taunting image of the parcel left her heart hammering. She slowly pulled the drawstring on the sheer satchel and watched as it fell away to reveal the glow of her prophecy. Careful not to touch the orb, Ana picked up the tag attached to the base and ran a thumb over the delicate calligraphy bearing her name. Why did she have to stumble upon it all those years ago? Why had she let her curiosity get the best of her and steal it? She didn't even want to know what it said, but she knew that nothing could stop her from releasing it. This realization spurned her forward and for the first time in years, Analiza managed to overcome the dread enough to cup the faintly pulsing orb in her trembling hand.

At first nothing happened and Ana felt a sigh of relief forming in the back of her throat, only to be cut off when a weak, reedy voice begin to emerge from the swirling mist within. She stared into it, mesmerized, as it spoke:

She who bears the mark of the ancients... who, like Prometheus, ventures too close to the sun...shall be dashed upon the alter of the undying under the gaze of the twin stars ... she shall be reborn into the void, a vessel... her legacy, her demise...

As the voice faded away, Ana sat there and stared at it, the breath sucked from her lungs. The trembling became violent as she whispered, softly at first "no... nonono..." Tears begin to well in her eyes as her voice escalated "NO... IT'S NOT TRUE.... I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" She ended with a scream as she bolted out of her chair and launched the offending orb into the ground where it shattered alongside her forgotten mug. The blue mist begin to rise from the pool of coffee and faded into the air as it repeated, over and over, her legacy, her demise... her legacy, her demise...her legacy... her demise....

"STOP IT.... STOP...IT...." Ana begged, tearing at her hair as the tears flowed down her cheeks, tinted dark gray from her streaked makeup. Falling to her knees, Analiza tried to silence the voice by sweeping a hand through the pile of glass and clay, unconcious of the shards tearing through the delicate skin of her palm. Curling the bloodied hand into a loose fist, she pressed her knuckles against her trembling lips and murmured, "It can't be true... it can't be true...", as she rocked back and forth like a frightened child.

The stone around the gargoyle creaked and groaned as the stairs spiraled upwards to the Headmistress' office.  Halfway up, Sasha was struck with a profound sense of deja vu.  Almost exactly a year ago, Sasha had climbed this very staircase to thank Professor Greyfriar for his years of help and to bid him farewell.  Everything had been so normal then.  Everything had made sense.  His biggest worries in life were going home and convincing his parents he'd had a productive and successful year at school in Switzerland.  Professor Greyfriar had been proud of him. Neely's cat had been resurrected.  Ava had been acting normally.  He'd felt young. 

Now, here he was a year later climbing those very same stairs.  Professor Greyfriar was disappointed in him (and a werewolf) and it was now Madam Snark who he was seeking out.  In two weeks time, he'd be returning home to an empty house.  His family was gone.  He'd killed a man.  OWLs were about to start.  Cashmere was still alive. 

The door at the top of the stairs stood ajar.  Well aware that wasn't exactly an invitation to enter, Sasha reached a hand out, about to knock on the door when he heard Madam Snark's scream from behind the door.  With a loud SMASH, something inside the office shattered.  The two sounds together touched a nerve still raw from Christmas and, in a moment of panic, he reacted without thinking.  His whole body quacked when he pushed open the door but his wand was out and the flash of orange light burst out of his wand and slammed into the wall, inches above where the glass orb had made contact.  A puff of dust and smoke blossomed up from the point of impact, revealing two deep gouges in the wall as it cleared.  Panic loosened its grip on Sasha and he blinked, glancing around at the otherwise empty room as a new fear built. 

That spell.  He'd used it, again.  This time, in front of Madam Snark.  Who was sitting in the otherwise empty office, crying.  Sasha froze, his wand in hand, as he stared at the woman entirely unsure of what he should do next.  Slowly back out?  Hope she hadn't noticed?  Apologize and hope she was too distracted with crying to expel him on the spot?  Try to argue that, whatever he'd done, he'd done to help her and hope that made a difference?  Three months ago, it wouldn't have.  But, three months ago, he wouldn't have walked in on her sobbing. 

"Ma'am?"  He offered, tentatively, half-braced for the woman to lash out.  "Are ... are you alright?  Should I get ... a professor?"  Right now, the best case scenario seemed to be that she'd send him to find someone.  Maybe she will have forgotten by the time whoever he sent up helped her regain her composure. 

And, maybe she'd think the gashes on the wall appeared on their own.

Ana heard the door creak on its hinges and felt it slam against the wall... she saw the flash of orange and smelt the scent of burnt wood that it left in its wake... All her senses were intact, but her mind didn't seem to comprehend what was happening. All she could do was stare at the blood dripping from her hand, fascinated by the bits of glass sticking out here and there amidst the crimson. The figure looming at the edge of her vision spoke, his voice distant and tinny like it was running through a filter. She didn't respond at first until his words finally muddled their way through the chaos of her mind. It then dawned on her, in horror, that someone was witnessing this pathetic scene and she was the reluctant star.

"Ma'am? Are ... are you alright?  Should I get ... a professor?"

Pulling her hand carefully to her chest in a meager attempt to hide it, Analiza looked up at the boy through bleary, tearful eyes. It took a moment for the blond hair and jawline to register, but when Ana finally pieced it together, she was filled with a strange mix of embarrassment and relief. The embarrassment of being caught, tear stained and bloody (not to mention bloody insane), was inevitable. Then there was the strange feeling relief that of all the students who could have caught her private cabaret of misery, it was Schlagenweit. Had she been in her right mind, she would have realized that this was rather ironic, her being almost happy to see the boy, since the two had been bitter enemies until recently. She would have laughed at the idea then. Now, though, she simply stared up at the teen, visibly shaken as she tried to hide the cuts on her hand.

"...No..." She said finally, comprehension of what he asked dawning on her "... No, I'm... fine." Any idiot could see that she was lying, but those who knew her knew not to press the envelope. Slowly standing to her feet, she fell into her desk chair as gracefully as possible in her condition and hid her hand under the desk as though he hadn't noticed. "What... What can I help you with, Sasha..." She said distantly, trying to regain some of her normal composure. Her good hand weakly touched her hair, rather ineffectively patting it into place, and then wiped at the tear stains on her cheeks. It didn't help much but at least she felt a bit more composed. Below the desk, bubbles of blood slowly bubbled forth from the wounds with each throbbing heartbeat. She attempted to stop the flow by clenching her fingers but only managed to make it hurt more. Wincing, she licked her lips and tried to give Sasha a normal Snark glare "... I... I am very busy."

It didn't take a genius to recognized Madam Snark wasn't being entirely honest.  She wasn't fine.  She was just now pushing herself to her feet and was clearly shaken.  Sasha's eyes traveled the room looking for ... whatever they might find.  Shining, sparkling shards of glass were strewn across the floor.  Had it been a drinking glass?  Looking glass?  It was impossible to guess the original size and shape of the object from the tiny bits of glass.  The glare Snark was throwing in Sasha's direction was the only part of the scene that seemed at all fine and normal.  But, even its credibility was marred by the woman's inability to offer a solid, continuous sentence with it.  The stuttering and broken diction might be normal from Sasha.  From Snark, it would take more than a glare to convince Sasha she was fine. 

Nothing about the scene was certain and it wasn't exactly his place to press the subject.  In fact, it probably wasn't even his place to be here but turning and just walking out didn't seem right.  "Should I get Nagde?"  He asked though, despite the bleeding, he doubted the woman's answer would have changed at all.  But - he was almost certain he could see the shiny edge of blood seeping between the woman's clenched fingers.  He hesitated a few more breaths before finally approaching the desk, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to the woman.  "Do you keep any healing salves or herbs around?  Essence of Dittany?" 

While sitting across the desk from the Headmistress, Sasha's request seemed trivial.  But, it was important.  And, once they started in to exams, it would be easy to get distracted.  Not to mention, he couldn't just try to pretend he'd come on a whim.  Perched carefully on the edge of his chair, Sasha shrugged apologetically.  "It's certainly - it could wait."  Until she stopped bleeding.  If that would help.  "I just ... it's about academics."  Therefore, again, less important than her lacerated hand.  "About doing an internship in the library with Mr. Morgan.  Studying Latin and its connection to spell creation.  But, like I said, it can wait."